Ah, Spring...

Artists of every type and stripe have struggled for centuries to describe the emotional explosion of springtime without coming off as a pseudo-artistic dork.

It is the season of fresh, dew-drenched, flower-laden renewal, teasing our minds forward into daydreams of long, summer days and well-deserved vacations—but you can’t just go around saying that to people. They’ll have you committed.

Add to that the fact that my own springtimes are chock full of dates with incredible emotional meaning, and the whole thing may actually send you running to book an Alaskan cruise.

The date that’s been around the longest is the birthday of my beloved Grandmother King on May 22. She had a green thumb, an artistic exuberance and a dry wit that I didn’t appreciate nearly enough while she was with us, though I loved and enjoyed her fully from childhood through adulthood.

The newest spring milestone is, of course, the most meaningful: I gave birth to my twin baby boys on Mother’s Day weekend, 1994. In a two-minute flash, one became three: one cocky child who thought she knew everything was joined by two helpless infants who have raised her to adulthood, where she finally knows how little she knows. Funny how that happens.

In a few short weeks, they will be 18. We will have graduation, they will have a party, then they will drift into the next chapter with me still scribbling feverishly on this one – wishing I could pull them back, trap them in these pages just one more moment so I can get it just right. Add more wisdom, more values, more experience; erase the mistakes, the hurtful moments, the bewilderment and vulnerability and disappointment of realizing that the adults who are in charge of your world sometimes have no earthly idea what they’re doing.

You see, I am my mother’s daughter—she is an amazing seamstress. And yet, I remember rushing breathlessly out the door to more than one school dance with the uneasy feeling that if I looked down at my hemline, there she might be, keeping pace with us down the sidewalk, madly stitching and re-stitching this “one last part.”

Lucky for the boys (and their parents), the moment is here, the deadline has passed. No more stitching. They’ll have to move on into the rest of their story and make do with the unedited, raw truth of whatever we were able to give them. We’ll have to hope that enough of the good stuff stuck.

The boys were tumbling toward the twelfth May of their young lives when another pivotal event shifted our world.

We lost my mother-in-law, their grandma, on April 20, 2005. I am a better person for having known her, and I continue to be blessed by the memory of her. Best of all, God knew just how to carry her forward into our futures – in the sweet face of our Lizzie, born three years before her death, and bearing a striking resemblance to her beautiful “Grammaw-Grammaw.”

Julia Ann was unlike any woman I had ever met. Most ladies in this world are exceedingly self-critical—picking, fretting and muttering at each perceived bump, lump, wrinkle, blemish, stray hair and gray hair. We spend countless hours and endless energy wishing our flat places were round and our round places were flat; tanning and toning, working out and dieting, willing ourselves taller, thinner, shorter or prettier.

This tiny tower of strength was the “anti” all of that. Not purposefully so—I believe it just never occurred to her to be so self-involved. Nor did she fuss over the dust, muss, or possible shortcomings of the house where she made her home.

No, “Mom’s” focus was outside of herself and the “things” of her life. She was the unintentional hub of a very large circle of loved ones. She quietly, wisely observed; kept her counsel and held her tongue when it didn’t seem humanly possible; and spoke volumes in just a few words when she chose to speak on a subject. She was the singular expert on each of us; we all felt that she “got” us like no one else could. Truth was, she did.

I used to joke, and I still mostly believe, that she had a way of making each of her offspring feel that they were secretly her favorite. She did this without slighting or belittling the others in any way. She had a gift for making you feel big without making anyone else seem small.

Most of all, Julia Ann believed in and loved her God with every fiber of her being. She didn’t fret over it, she simply lived it. She didn’t seem to harbor the guilt and regret and shame that so many of us believe are the proud wounds of the “true” Christian. She was instead, a joyful, kind, giving and forgiving sort of Christian who lived by example and walked by faith.

In all the time I knew this woman, I never heard judgment cross her lips. “Mama Bear” defenses or awareness of evil might bring a dark look across her face on rare occasions; but more often, “Mom’s” face held a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, or a twinkle dancing in her eye.

You’re surely thinking that if all of this were true, she must have been darn near perfect, and you’re right. She was. I was nearly knocked physically to my knees, boo-hooin’ like a teething baby the other day, with the truth of how much I miss her, and the grief of knowing I have failed her in my broken marriage to her baby boy. I thought how disappointed she would be; how that dark look would cross her face at the thought of it all.

Then I remembered. It was just before she went home to be with her God, her daughter, and her lifelong love. She was busy on the threshold, preparing for the ultimate journey. I was busy stealing a single, blessed moment to ask her forgiveness for shortcomings unspoken, to express my love, and generally make it about me when it wasn’t about me at all.

I don’t even remember our words. As usual, there were more of mine than hers. I just remember that she comforted me. She patted my hand from her bed. She made me know I was forgiven, and understood, and loved.

As I thought of that pivotal moment, I looked up and noticed the strong, yet dainty pink flowers bursting forth on that tree I never remember the name of in my front yard. (She wouldn’t judge me for that, but she’d know what it is.)

Those abundant buds are strong and delicate, just like her. They’re a treat for the senses that reaffirms springtime, this fragrant interlude between winter and summer… forgiveness of the past, and promise of the future.

 Julia Ann’s memory.

Her grandsons’ beginnings.